  Henry Thorne’s words echoed in Janet’s ears as the girls changed their costumes in the dressing room. Of course he must have been saying it lightly, paying them a pleasant compliment for their work. She forced herself to dismiss it from serious consideration. They changed quickly, hung up their costumes, and hurried out to join their parents for Henry Thorne was entertaining at dinner down town. “What was the idea of telling us you were in charge of lighting when you actually played the second lead?” Janet’s mother asked after they had left the gym and were rolling down town in the car. “But mother, I told the truth. I was in charge of lighting until about twenty minutes before the curtain went up. Then one of the drops broke away and fell on Margie. She suffered a minor concussion and it was up to someone to step in and take the part or the show would have flopped right then and there before the curtain went up.” “You mean you stepped in cold and handled the second lead?” asked Henry Thorne, turning around in the front seat to gaze incredulously at Janet. “But it wasn’t hard. You see I tried out for that rÔle and then I attended every rehearsal. Of course I sort of lived the character I tried out for. I missed some of the lines tonight, but the others knew I might and they covered up for me.” “Well, I’ll be darned. I thought you had been rehearsing it from the first and had told us you were on lights just to surprise us,” said the famous director. “Anyway, you did a swell job. Maybe I will take you back to the coast with me.” “Now Henry,” protested his wife, “don’t start saying things you don’t mean. You’ll get the girls all excited and then you’ll have to rush away to start work on another picture and you’ll forget all about your promises to them.” “Probably you’re right mother, but they’re smart, good looking girls, even if one of them is my daughter, and heavens knows we could use some really smart, level-headed girls in one of my companies.” Janet’s father wheeled the car in to the curb in front of the restaurant where they were to have dinner and in the bustle of getting out of the car conversation switched to another topic, but Henry Thorne’s words persisted in sticking in Janet’s mind. Henry Thorne had planned and ordered the supper himself. It was a man’s meal and Janet and Helen, now tremendously hungry after the strain of the play, enjoyed it to the utmost. First there was chilled tomato juice and in the center of the table a heaping platter of celery, olives and pickled onions that they ate with relish through all of the courses of the dinner. Then came great sizzling steaks, thick and almost swimming in their own juice, french fried potatoes, a liberal head lettuce salad, small buttered peas, hot rolls and jam. And after that there was open-face cherry pie and coffee for those who cared for it. “So this is your idea of a meal, Henry?” asked his wife, surveying the welter of dishes on the table. “Well, perhaps not every day and every meal, but once in a while I’d say yes. This is my idea of a meal.” “I think it’s been grand,” spoke up Janet’s mother, “especially since I didn’t have to do any work toward it.” “That does make a difference,” conceded Mrs. Thorne, “but I’d hate to think of Henry’s waistline if he had a meal like this every day.” Conversation turned to neighborhood issues and talk of the town, for Henry Thorne maintained a tremendously active interest in the affairs of his home city. When they finally started home, it was well after one o’clock, but routine school days for Janet and Helen were at an end. Exams were over and there was only the junior-senior banquet and then commencement. Janet slept late the next morning and it was after ten o’clock when her mother finally awakened her. “Helen and her father just phoned they are coming over. I thought you might like to go with them. After they get some worms out of the back yard they’re going fishing. I’ll put up a lunch.” Janet hurried into her clothes and met Helen and her father as they arrived. Henry Thorne was armed with an ancient cane fishpole, had on a venerable straw hat, cracked but comfortable shoes, old overalls and a blue shirt. “I think he’s thoroughly disreputable looking,” said Helen, laughing at her father. “Granted, my dear, but I’m most thoroughly comfortable, which is the main thing. I wouldn’t trade this old fishing outfit for the best suit of clothes in the world.” Janet showed them a corner of the back lot that promised to be productive of worms, and then went in the house for her own breakfast. She ate on the kitchen table while her mother packed a basket of lunch to be taken by the anglers. It was a grand morning for a fishing expedition and especially if those going fishing really didn’t care whether they caught any fish or not. Just before they left Janet’s father arrived and hastily changed into old clothes. “Want to go to the creek in the car?” asked John Hardy. “Not on your life. We’re walking, both ways,” grinned Henry Thorne, and the men, the cane poles over their shoulders, started for the creek. Helen carried the can of worms and Janet took the lunch basket. Indian creek was a pleasant stream, meandering through the rolling hills north of Clarion. Its waters were clear, alternating in quiet pools and swift little riffles over its gravel bed. The air was mild and there was scarcely a cloud in the sky. They went up the creek for more than a mile before Henry Thorne found a pool that looked like it might have a few bullheads. The foliage overhead was thick and the water here looked almost turgid, far different from the clear stream which danced along its bed farther down. The men baited their hooks and Janet and Helen sat down to watch the fishermen. Helen’s father got the first bite, but he failed to land his fish. After that there was a long interval when the fishermen failed to talk and the fish failed to bite. Then the bullheads all seemed hungry and Janet’s father was the first to land one, but Henry Thorne was right behind him with a larger catch. “Cut a willow stick for a stringer,” said Helen’s father, tossing a knife to her, and Helen, knowing exactly what was needed, found a forked willow and trimmed it down. In less than an hour they had eleven bullheads on the willow stick. “That’s plenty,” decided Janet’s father. “There’s no use spoiling the fun by taking more than we need. Shall we have them for supper tonight at my place?” “Nothing doing. We’ll have them right here. Remember when we were kids and used to clean them along the creek, put them on a stick, and try and cook them over a fire?” Janet’s father nodded. “That’s what we’re going to do right now. We’ll clean the fish while the girls get some dry sticks and build a fire.” Thus they had their noon meal, bullheads off the spit, crisp and hot, with just a sprinkle of salt on them, sandwiches and fruit from the basket, and cool, sweet water from a nearby spring. Henry Thorne, his appetite appeased, his mind and body relaxed, stretched out on the grass and looked meditatively into the creek. “What a life this would be—no strain, no thoughts of tomorrow, no temperamental stars to worry about, no stories to doctor, no budget to watch.” “But after what you’ve had this would tire in a few weeks. Why, you’re thinking about getting back into the harness right now,” said Janet’s father. Henry Thorne flushed guiltily. “Caught that time,” he admitted. “Sure I was thinking about getting back on the job. I’m too much of a work horse, I guess.” “But you’ll stay until after graduation, won’t you?” asked Helen anxiously. “That’s one thing you needn’t worry about,” promised her father. “I’m thinking now of what’s going to be best for you after high school days are over; whether you and mother will prefer to stay here in Clarion or would like to come west with me. You’re pretty much of a young woman now, Helen, and from the play last night, quite a capable little actress.” “Not much of an actress, I’m afraid, Dad, but I did want to be in the class play because you were coming home and I wanted you to be proud of me.” “I was very proud of you, dear. Just how proud you’ll never know, and I’ve been trying to think of something I could do that would show you just how pleased I was over the work you and Janet did in the class play.” They were silent for a time, all of them enjoying the quiet charm of the afternoon. Henry Thorne puffed slowly on a venerable pipe while Janet’s father dozed, his hat pulled down to shield his eyes from the sun. The embers of their fire turned black and then grey as they cooled. Janet thoroughly enjoyed relaxing on the creek bank. School days were almost over and she couldn’t help wondering what the summer and the coming year would hold in store for her. Of course there would be college in the fall, but just where had not been determined. It was generally understood at home, though, that she would be allowed to make her own choice providing it was anywhere near within reason. Janet knew that Helen’s plans were very uncertain. Her friend wasn’t even sure that they would continue to make their home in Clarion. Just then Henry Thorne knocked the ashes out of his pipe and squinted at the sun. “Better be starting home,” he said. He picked up a small stick and tossed it at Janet’s father, who awoke with a start. “Come on sleepy-head. Time to go.” Janet finished packing the few utensils that went back into the lunch basket while the men wound up the lines on their fishpoles. They started home, walking leisurely in the warm afternoon, the men leading the way. Half a mile down the creek they came upon a farm boy, riding bareback. The horse was a beautiful, spirited animal, and the lad rode with amazing grace. They paused for several minutes to watch the horse and rider until they finally disappeared over a nearby hill. “Can either of you girls ride?” Henry Thorne asked the question almost sharply. “A little, but not much nor very well,” confessed Janet. “I belong in the same class,” added Helen. “Is there any place in town where we can find good horses and a good instructor?” Helen’s father shot the question at John Hardy. “Hill and Dale farm keeps a fine string of horses. I’m sure I could arrange for instruction there.” “I’ll go with you this evening and we’ll see what can be done. I want the girls to become proficient at riding as soon as possible.” “But what’s the idea?” asked Helen. “Just another quirk of mine,” smiled her father. As soon as they reached home Henry Thorne urged Janet’s father to accompany him to see about riding lessons for the girls and just before dinner returned. “Your first lesson will be at eight o’clock to-morrow morning,” he announced. “Look up some old duds that won’t be hurt if you fall off.” “But how about the girls?” demanded his wife. “They’ll have to take a chance on that,” he smiled. |
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